


just take me down

by monopolizers



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopolizers/pseuds/monopolizers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek kisses like no one ever really taught him to kiss, the way he takes and takes and bites at her lips until she's sure she can taste the tang of blood; but she's not going to back down from a fight with him, so she digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulder and gives back as good as she gets, setting her weight solidly against his, pushing into him, trying to push him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just take me down

**Author's Note:**

> content includes hate sex? see end notes for full description of possibly triggering content, though hate sex pretty much covers it.
> 
> title from Phantom Planet's Geronimo.

"What do you want?" Derek says when she shows up at his apartment, seething, silent. Allison shoves at his shoulder to try to push past him; werewolf strength wins out, and he stands, immobile.

"Fuck you," she spits. The snarl on his face is soundless, but particularly ugly, the way his lips are drawn back from his teeth. 

"What do you want," he says again, though this time it's not as much a question as a demand. "Have you come here because Scott told you? Or are you like the rest of them?"

"My family follows a code," she says. Her face feels—twisted up in anger. She takes a deep breath, calms herself down, ignoring the jab about Scott, who still hasn't told her shit. "My family follows a code and you killed my mother." 

"Your Code killed your mother." Derek's eyes are flat, devoid of emotion, but his hands are curled up into fists, big, strong fists with white knuckles. He's standing rigid, not leaning forward the way she is, not entering her space the way she's in his, trying to throw him off balance. The muscles in his arms are bulging. He sounds—disgusted, contempt-filled. As if the Code were trash to him. Of course it would be.

"You're nothing," Allison says. She's proud of how even it comes out. "You're nothing, you're—" She can't think of anything else to say, cuts herself off before she says something she doesn't want to look back on and regret. But she's all the way in his face now, just a couple of inches shorter than him with the heels she'd thought to throw on. This close she can see the lines inscribed around his eyes—he's too young to have crow's feetthey must have been—laugh lines, her brain supplies, but her mind blanks at it. Derek can't smile.

He's still standing with that rigidity, heat emanating off him the way the sun beat down all summer, while Allison cried late at night, stuck to the sheets in her bed, unwilling to be too loud lest her father come in and look in on her and ask her what was wrong. She takes one step closer, then another, until her breasts are almost brushing his chest. He looks straight over her shoulder, eyes still flat. 

"You're _nothing_ ," she says again, whispers it in his ear, and this time he—flinches?

Then he's moving so fast she doesn't even have time to process it, the way he throws her against the wall, one hand above her shoulder and one next to her waist, his eyes flashing alpha red. She's not scared of him at all. She's not scared. 

"I'm _nothing_?" he repeats, sneering. "Go ahead and ask Scott what your _mother_ thought of your precious Code—have you asked him? Did he tell you what she was going to do—what I saved him from? Your mother couldn't take being like me and she killed herself, Allison." The way he says her name makes her want to curl up in on herself, but she stays there, back straight against the wall, staring into his eyes, red, flashing, because she refuses to back down from a fight with Derek Hale. "That's not my problem. Her death is not my problem. But thanks to you, I have the deaths of other people, who are actually innocent, to worry about." 

She grits her teeth at that. "I was trying to save your life," she says, flat and deadly serious. She grabs at his shoulder and he yanks her forward and they're suddenly—kissing—

Derek kisses like no one ever really taught him to kiss, the way he takes and takes and bites at her lips until she's sure she can taste the tang of blood; but she's not going to back down from a fight with him, so she digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulder and gives back as good as she gets, setting her weight solidly against his, pushing into him, trying to push him down. He pulls back with a stunned look, and for a moment it's like he's not looking at her at all. Then he snarls, actually _snarls_ , and shoves against the wall, backing away as quickly as he can. 

She laughs derisively. "You don't want it?" she says. There's someone screaming at her somewhere, telling her not to do this, that it's a bad idea, that he killed her mother and that this will kill Scott and a thousand other rationalizations. 

Allison's not going to be weak. She's not going to be— _weak._

Derek's shakes his head, but it's not a no—his hands are curling and uncurling, and he takes a step towards her like he's not sure what he's doing, then another, until this time he's the one standing in her space. He's using his height and bulk to full advantage; her heels make her close to the same height as him, but now he's forcing her down.

"You're going to regret this," he says in a low voice, hands curling around her hips, branding her through her jeans. He's right. She's probably going to regret this.

"Then I might as well, right?" she says, and he _rumbles_ , no other way to describe it, the sound reverberating through his chest and right into her. She hooks her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and kisses him, hard, ignoring the strange feeling of his stubble scratching her face and the way he doesn't feel anything like Scott at all. She'd never kiss Scott like this, not so hard, not so unforgiving, and he would never hold her like he's close to crushing her, big hands framing her ribs, burning through the layers of her clothing, holding her up against the wall and pushing into her with his weight. She can feel his cock, half-hard. 

"I'm going to fuck you," she says, pulling back. It's quiet, like a promise. "I'm going to _fuck_ you." Savage. Derek doesn't even say anything, just noses along her throat, presses his lips there, bites her collarbone. He's nothing. He's like a fucking _animal_. She drops her legs and pushes him back. 

"Get a condom," she says. Derek's lips curl back in the facsimile of a smile, but there's nothing gentle about it. He stalks off and she goes to the bed in the corner of the room, then walks to the couch. The bed—she doesn't want to do this on the bed. It's too much, too loaded for her. 

She's debating whether or not to take her clothes off when he appears next to her. She doesn't jump; she doesn't want to give him that satisfaction. 

"Let's make this quick," he says, voice rumbling again. "I don't want your scent to stay here any longer than it has to." 

"No one's forcing you to do this," she says. He smacks the condom down on the table. 

"You're right. No one's forcing me." It sounds like there's a _but_ lurking there somewhere, but he doesn't even finish the sentence, just strips his shirt off quickly. "Let's make this quick," he says again, but it's softer, like he's trying to convince himself. 

She insinuates herself from her position on the couch onto his lap and kisses him again, rough still, biting, pushing her hands against his wrists until he's in a position of immobility on the couch. There's power in this; she can feel it, in his big thighs trembling under her, the line of his cock through her jeans, the muscles in his biceps flexing.

"No," he says. It's more of a snarl again; his eyes are red. 

She quirks an eyebrow. She must look a mess, cheeks red, hair askew, but she's going to keep her cool no matter how much effort it takes. 

"Take your hands off my wrists," he grinds out. Allison takes them off, quickly, threads her hands in his hair and kisses him instead, pushing her hips down against his just to hear the way his breath hitches. She can feel the throb in her clit, and she's getting wet.

Derek drops his hands to the curve of her waist, then pushes his fingertips under her shirt in his gentlest action since they've started. Allison doesn't have time to—do gentleness. "Just take it off," she says, quiet, and he peels her layers off her not in the haste she'd expected but with grace, until she's left in her bra and jeans. She hops off him for a second to take care of the jeans herself, then kneels in front of him on the couch to get his off—not what he'd expected, from the way his eyes fly up to her face like he's surprised. His boxer briefs are plain and black; his cock is visibly hard, and she palms it, taking in his groan, the way his hips twitch. 

Allison pulls Derek's underwear off too, but when she reaches for the condom he gets there first. "I'll put this on," he says, rolls it on deftly and with purpose. "I don't want to touch you—any more than I need to." 

The comment catches her off guard. She's struck with a furious desire to hurt him, to do anything to him that will make him feel the way she's feeling right now, because he's ripped the covering off wounds she's been hiding for the past four months—the rage over her mother's death, the rage over Gerard, her helplessness with regards to Scott, the complete and enveloping loneliness she feels sometimes, driving out into the woods so that she can scream where nobody will hear her, beating her fists against trees, living in abject misery, being sad all the time, all the time, all the time. 

But she doesn't say anything. 

Allison pushes her underwear off; his strange, pale eyes are on her, watching her as she removes her bra, puts it aside, possessive, patronizing, even. She straddles him, putting her hands on his shoulders, broad and muscled, to steady herself, and sinks down onto him slowly, relishing the way he tosses his head back, exposing his neck to her. It would be so easy, right now, to—

She pushes that thought out of her mind. He tips his head forward, groans low in his throat, and kisses her neck, turning it into a light bite even as his hands settle at her hips, even as she begins to move, even as both of them begin to breathe more heavily. 

Derek moves his head up from her neck to kiss her, still hard, at odds with the slow, even pace she's set while riding him; he traces his hands along her ribs and brushes her breasts, runs his thumb over her nipple, does it again when she gasps without meaning to. His hands are calloused and so warm; in fact, everything is warm, increasing the sensation as he bites down from her neck to her breasts, his stubble scratching at her skin. Scott never had stubble like this. It's a reminder to her.

He brushes a thumb over her breasts and then touches her clit unexpectedly, making her gasp; he fucks up into her and touches her at the same time, setting the pace like she hadn't really wanted, rubbing his thumb over her and making her tense up, gasp into the warm hollow of his throat, hold onto his shoulders as her toes curl and she's so close, so, so close, nearly—there. There. She slumps over him and he fucks up a few more times into her, then stiffens, his hands tightening on her waist. 

They don't even stay like that for a moment; she disentangles herself from him and starts dressing as quickly as she can. He ties off the condom and throws it in the trash can, which is all the way across the room—he makes it anyway. She can’t even look at him. “What did my mom do?” she says, and it sounds loud in the loft, echoing around. Derek looks like she slapped him in the face. She should have, because she doesn’t want to ever—touch him again, now that she knows the soft places of his body, the way he closes his eyes when he comes, hands curling into the sheets because he can’t bring himself to grab her hips, the little hurt noise he made when she straddled him, put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. 

“Scott isn’t going to tell you?” he sneers. He isn’t even looking at her. “Why don’t you ask him? Or do you just want to hear it from someone who you want to—blame—because you can’t handle the truth? So that you can twist it around like the rest—of your family, the rest of them, going around killing innocent people?” His voice breaks on the word innocent, and Allison’s got a feeling that he’s talking about something more than Scott and her mother right now.

“My family are good people,” she says. Her voice comes out smaller than she’d like. “We have a Code.”

“Ask Scott about the Code,” he snarls. His hands are shaking as he’s pulling his socks on. “And get out, get out—”

She doesn’t hurry out, refuses to give him the upper hand, because she’s not fucking scared of him; but she is scared of his anger, of the hurt in his voice, the slight tremor of his hands, and more than that—scared of how she’d felt, that one moment over him, when he’d closed his eyes and she’d steadied herself on his shoulders and felt something uncurling in her gut at how vulnerable he seemed, his throat, and how easy it would have been, then, to hurt him, to hurt him more.

**Author's Note:**

> content: Allison shows up at Derek's apartment, they verbally spar, kiss for a little bit, have sex on a couch. She holds his wrists down once before he says not to do that and she stops. Derek's Kate issues are implied throughout in his actions but her name is never specifically mentioned.
> 
> anyway. I don't know how this happened but it......did? Heavily inspired by that one gifset helenish [wrote on](http://helenish.tumblr.com/post/52753146659/hunter-vs-werewolf-how-my-mind-works-101-well). Hope you enjoyed :)


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